Macca, my dear
by Good old fashioned lover girl
Summary: 1964. John Lennon desires to wake up every day by the side of the person he loves the most: Paul McCartney. Slash.
1. Chapter 1

_**AN: This is very slashy, and it's really silly, so you shouldn't take it too seriously. I'm just fooling around. So, if you don't like the idea of Lennon and McCartney being together as a couple, there's a "go back" button.**_

_**Disclaimer: Obviously, this never happened. I don't own John or Paul, I just own the silly words I wrote.**_

* * *

**_John Lennon's P.O.V._**

It's a bright and sunny day when I wake up radiant and happy. That isn't something usual on me. Most days I get out of bed grumpy with a bad mood; but today is different, because Paul McCartney is sleeping by my side. I yawn and turn around to analyze him: his breath is so neat, his bones don't dare to move, and his hair looks like a beautiful mess.

Minutes later, the bassist makes a yawning sound and slowly opens his big doe eyes.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty," I kiss his forehead.

"Looks like someone finally woke up in a good mood. Why aren't you grumpy and complaining about everything?" Paul laughs.

"I don't have reasons for complaining today, because I woke up next to the person I love most." I explain, flashing him a smile he returns.

My boyfriend can't help but blush and giggle. We feel like the happiest boys on Earth; and we probably are the most in love. I lean over to kiss his lips tenderly, when he looks at the clock and screams: "Bloody hell!"

I give him a confused look wondering if I did something wrong.

"Brian's going to kill us. Today was our recording session and we're late!" He finally speaks, very worried. He always wants to be on time for everything.

As he gets quickly out of bed, I grab his arm and propose, "Let's say we're sick."

"We promised to be there, love, and you know I don't like lying."

"But you can do it for your boyfriend who loves you like crazy and wants to spend the day cuddling with his Macca." I use my manipulative voice, but apparently it doesn't work.

"C'mon, Johnny… You know I would love to spend the day only with you, cuddling and caressing your hair…"

"Then let's stay!" I keep begging while he's getting prepared. It's not that I don't like recording sessions; in fact, I love them. They are even greater than concerts, where by the way, I can't even hear myself playing. But something about today made the perfect day for staying home with him.

"John, have any idea of where I left my bloody shoes?" Paul looks for his shoes under the bed, but doesn't find anything.

"I won't tell ya," I smirk, showing one of my evil faces.

"C'mon, John, I need my shoes! Don't be mean." Paul implores while putting his socks on.

"Oh… It's such a pity you can't find your shoes… You can't go to Abbey Road without them on. What would they say?"

"I'll wear yours, then." he shrugs like any stubborn boy does.

"My feet are way bigger than yours."

"Then tell me where are my bloody shoes!" Paul exclaims while tightening his tie. He isn't going to win this.

"Nah. That way you'll have to spend the day cuddling with me; because, by the way, I don't have any idea where my shoes are, either."

He comes out with his pair of shoes on after heading for the bathroom to brush his teeth. Paul always wins.

"Oh fuck, you found your shoes…"

"Recording is fun, silly, you love it! It'll be fun recording _A hard day's night._"

Paul is right; he always is. Besides, we can't let Eppy, George and Ringo down. We all love recording sessions. We are going to keep working our third album, the first one with no covers: Just Lennon/McCartney songs. Today in particular, we will record _A hard day's night, _which we both sing lead.

All of a sudden, I am very excited about today's recording session.

"You're right, Paulie! And we're late! Let's go, go, go!" I say with complete enthusiasm.

I can see that I left him a little confused about my abrupt change of opinion; but I can also sense that he's also very happy, and that makes me feel like a total idiot for what I did before. I don't have the rights to complain about anything.

We get out of the house. I take my car, open the passenger's seat and invite Paul to sit in.

"Go ahead," I kiss his forehead, smile brightly, close the door and sit ready to drive to Abbey Road Studios.

"What made you change your mind today that you can't stop smiling?" he asks.

Without detouring my look from the road, I answer with complete honest: "You." I am not looking at him because I'm sure I would get lost in his beautiful eyes, totally losing the concentration in the road, and I would end up crashing the car. So I decide to not turn away and resist myself to not glue my eyes in my extremely gorgeous boyfriend.

Although I'm not staring at him, I'm sure he noticed the tenderness in my voice, and that I was not kidding when I answered what he asked.

"You smile because of me?" Finally, the lad speaks to inquire another of those silly questions I love.

"Because I love you." With that said, we arrive to the studio and I was able to once and for all glance at his sparkling eyes; both of us observing each other with infinitive tender; the one that doesn't need words. He leans over to kiss my cheek, and then caresses it softly.

"We better go inside," I grab his hand and we pass through the studio door, where Brian, Martin, George and Ringo are waiting angrily for us.

"Where the bloody hell were you? We haven't done anything because we can't record without you!" exclaims Epstein.

"It's not our fault! I couldn't find my shoes and John couldn't lend me one of his, because his feet are way bigger than mine!" Paul excuses our lateness by using the morning shoe-incident.

"Seriously? That's the best excuse you've got? I bet you two fucked till dawn and then couldn't wake up of tiredness." George rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, that too," I smirk and laugh.

Eppy got off his seat to announce, "Well, we better start recording!"

_A hard day's night. _Another great Lennon/McCartney song. I composed the music and he wrote the lyrics. We usually steal glances at each other when we play. Our connection through music is incredible.

Hours pass as we keep recording and repeating tracks for the album. Paul is even more perfectionist than Eppy when it comes to recording. He's never satisfied and is always saying things such as, "It doesn't sound neat, lads… Let's do it again!", and everyone's response is to give him an annoyance glance, and then repeating the whole thing again.

"Rings, you started the beat at the wrong time!" Paul complains.

"Like one second later! No one will notice, kid." Ringo states.

"I do notice! And if we don't repeat it, then every time in the future when I will listen the record, it will always sound weird to me and will be a curse!" Paul explains the situation, as George announces: "I'm hungry."

"You can eat after we finish." Paul says in reply.

"We would have finished by now if you weren't so bloody perfectionist" George shares a poor-hungry-boy look.

Although we are all hungry, we know we will end up staying till late night recording, and will only stop when Paul is happy with the result. I'm sure every band needs someone like him and his perfectionism, and that's one of the reasons our tracks are perfect.

We finally finished recording everything we had scheduled for today. We are all exhausted, but satisfied about the results. A new successful album is surely going to be released soon.

"Want to sleep in my house today, love?" I ask McCartney, holding his delicate hands.

"Of course, I'm practically living there now. I have my stuff there… Except shoes…"

I smile again. It's something common in me when he's near.

When we got home, Paul steps into the kitchen and asks: "You hungry?"

He already knows what my answer will be, because I haven't eaten in hours.

"I am, indeed." I reply, approaching and embracing him from his back.

"What do you want for dinner?"

"You." I reply, smiling naughtily and biting my lower lip. His eyes grow wide as I turn around to kiss his soft lips, and he responds by pulling me closer, tasting my mouth in his own unique way.

"No, seriously… What do you want to eat?" He whispers.

I keep insisting, "I am dead serious…" I peck his lips again, shaking his perfectly combed hair.

He moves away, leaving me in need for more kisses, and then he proclaims, "Pasta will be."

Together we make ourselves delicious spaghetti with tomato. Everything Paul does taste good. Fucking hell, every single part of Paul is extremely enjoyable.

"I'm tired," he announces letting out a yawn, right after finishing his meal.

"Let's go to bed, then."

It doesn't take too long for him to fall asleep in my arms, completely silent, while I was holding him with care_. _And that's when I start to think it should be like this every day. He should sleep in my arms every night and wake up by my side every morning. I don't want to miss anything he does. I want to be there for him every minute of his life. I want to marry James Paul McCartney.


	2. Chapter 2

_**P.O.V John Lennon**_

Yes, I definitely want to marry Paul McCartney. Where should I propose? It could be in a great city, like Rome or Paris, but I want something more. Some place he'd look and cry of happiness mumbling something like: _"J-John… This is where we…"_ but I just don't know where! We have shared so many memories together, that it's so hard to decide one specific place; and Liverpool, where we spent our teenage years, isn't necessarily the romantic place for excellence. So, which site?

The Cavern? Paul loved performing there, but it is actually a claustrophobic hell cavern. Not a good place for proposing.

Liverpool college of Art, where I studied for a while, went to Hamburg and when I returned I found something that said _"Don't bother showing up again"_? He used to visit me there and… No, how pathetic doing a proposal there.

Penny Lane? Strawberry Field? Liverpool port? No, no and no.

I'll take him to Hamburg! Hell no… Not Hamburg.

I guess I'll have to choose a new place to create a new memory instead of an old location he's been a thousand times in our hometown. It's just that… that July 6 of 1957 when that kid Ivan introduced me Paul, I knew it was going to be the beginning of a beautiful friendship… That's it! I already know where to ask him to marry me! I will recreate that Woolton festival where we met, but in a greater way.

It may sound lame doing a proposal in the Hall of an Anglican Church, but it will be very special. I'm going to make my Macca cry, blush and giggle at the same time, and I'm going to propose right in our anniversary; that glorious day of July 6.

I can totally imagine him, forty years from now, when I'm 64 (like that pretty song he wrote years ago), waking up by my side one July 6 of 2004, greeting: _"Good morning, Johnny, remember what day is today? Our double anniversary! We met 47 years ago… and we're engaged since 40 years!" _That's why the proposal ring is going to have scripted "July 6".

Right now is almost 3:00am and I haven't fallen asleep because of thinking how I will propose marriage to the little angel whose head is in my chest and is heavily sleeping, perhaps dreaming of me?

If only someone could take a photograph of this moment to show him how cutely he sleeps and how he holds me tight, like establishing that I'm his property. _I, John Lennon, utterly belong to Paul McCartney. _And that's something I could say in the proposal, actually. And speaking of it, I won't plan any speech to read; the words will come easily and spontaneously from my head.

Watching him sleeping every night is something I could pleasantly add to my routine; and I believe I'm already getting used to it. As minutes pass by, my eyes slowly get closer, and eventually I fall asleep too, joining Paul.

Hours after, I wake up from my dream, which it was surely something good, because it's well known that if you can't remember your dream, it is because you had a good sleep; or I don't really know, actually. When I open my eyes, I see two doe eyes staring directly at me the way mines adore to be stared at. For once, Paul has woken up before me.

"You're awake!" The owner of those beautiful eyes breaks the silence, curving his lips into one of those smiles only he can create.

"I am, love… I am…" I state as I peck his nose, making him giggle and smile again. "When did you wake up?" I ask.

"A while ago, but I didn't want to get off the bed because I wanted to be the first thing you see when you wake up. And how can I guarantee that if I'm somewhere else?" He lets out those adorable words. How can someone be as cute as him? I'm the luckiest man alive, that's for sure.

"Is it possible for me to adore you more than I already do?"

"Only you know the answer to that question." he replies, blushing. He always has the best answers.

"And what if I tell you that my adoration for you has no limits? Numbers are infinite; so is my love to you." I make him keep blushing by speaking the truth.

"Make it plural," he quickly responds kissing my lips tenderly, which I reply making it longer.

"Let me make you breakfast." I say, imagining Paul is hungry like me.

"Darling, you always burn _everything. _I don't know how you do it…"

"That's a lie, Macca! I made pasta yesterday!"

"No, actually you only chose what package of spaghetti you wanted and filled the saucepan with water… But it doesn't matter, Johnny."

"But I want to make you breakfast!" I insist stubbornly.

"I'll help you."

"No. Stay in bed. Read yesterday's newspaper. We're in the front page again." I toss him the daily paper and head to the kitchen.

I spend some time in the kitchen trying to create an easy breakfast dish; but everything fails. I don't even know how to cook fucking scrambled eggs (not crude ones). I even burned the bread in the roaster, and I'm about to set fire to the kitchen. I'm sure Paul's hungry, and I haven't done anything here. _Fucking great, Lennon. You plan to get married and you don't even know how to make breakfast. _I'm not the kind of lad that gives up easily on something, but thinking about how hungry Paul must be, I decide to just grab two cups and fill them with milk. Cereal will be.

I take the cups and the box of cereal, walking slowly to not drop anything. It's funny how clumsy I can be some times.

When I get to the bedroom once again, I see him focused reading something on the newspaper. Probably some article about how much our fans love our haircuts. He deflects his view from the daily and lays his eyes on me.

"Finally. I was hungry." He smiles slightly and then asks, "What yummy thing did you make for your lovely boyfriend?"

"Corn flakes!" I show him the box and proceed to sit next to him on the bed.

"Serving two cups of milk and grabbing a cereal box took you like an hour and a half, love," he jokes, but seems to not care about my choice of breakfast.

"Just don't look at the kitchen or you will go crazy because you're an organization freak."

"I'm not an organization freak…"

"Yes you are, love. But you're perfect that way." I giggle, passing him one of the cups.

"Silly." He titters while serving some cereal to the cup.

"Silly me?"

"Yes, silly you," He says, directing a spoonful of milk with cereal to my mouth.

"Why?" I ask, still chewing.

"Because you always say everything in me is perfect and that's not true."

"You're perfect to me."

"C'mon! I know there's at least one thing that you don't like about me."

"Nope."

"Yeah!"

"No, Macca, there isn't."

"Yes, Johnny, there is." he imitates my voice.

"What a stubborn little boy you are, Paul." I say, making little curls with his hair using my fingers, still with the cup of cereal in my other hand.

"See? There's something you don't like about me, and I'm sure there are plenty other things."

"I never said I didn't like it. It's cute."

"My stubbornness is cute?"

"Indeed."

"You have milk all over your face," he lets out his cute giggle while taking another sip.

"Yeah? You have milk underneath your lower lip." I smirk and that made him giggle again… Doesn't he know he drives me crazy?

"Won't you help me cleaning it up?"

"My plan exactly." I leave my cup in the nightstand to throw myself to Paul and begin a soft kiss that turns out to be very long and passionate. I love that every time we kiss, he strokes my hair and sometimes messes it up; very typical of him. I remove with my tongue the last signs of milk he has in his chin and continue pecking tenderly different sides of his face.

"We should stay in bed all day." he proposes, and I really want to do so. Then I remember I have planned something else.

"I have to go to a meeting, lovely."

"Today? Is that a revenge for yesterday?"

"No! I would never take revenge on you…"

"Then why do you have to go? It's our day-off." he knows how to use a manipulative voice better than me, that's for sure. And though I want to kill myself for leaving him there, I have already called Geo, Rings and Eppy to tell my plans about proposing Paul to get married. They don't know anything yet, I just told them I had something important to say.

"I can't cancel it now, love…"

"But what meeting are you talking 'bout? You didn't tell me anything! Let me go with ya."

"I have to go alone… You'll know later, soon you'll understand everything, I promise."

"Ok…"

I feel terrible for what I'm doing. What kind of boyfriend I am? I can't lie to him telling I'm going somewhere else; I'm just hiding the true because it would be ridiculous to say I'm planning to tell our mates about our wedding, something he still doesn't have a clue I'm planning. Aren't I crazy? I haven't even proposed and I am already thinking about the wedding. I guess every man gets like this when they are going to propose.

I was the last one to arrive, as always.

"We love you, John… But do you have to be fucking late for everything?" Ringo complains, as George and Brian nod with annoyed faces.

"Sorry, I was…" I try to excuse my lateness, but Geo interrupts me before I can finish the sentence.

"Fucking with Paul?"

"No, Geo. We prefer to _make love _at night… So we'll do that later."

"Nah, you two seem to always be in the mood for that… No matter the hour, time, place or situation." George points, and it makes Ritchie and Epstein laugh a little.

"Yeah, that's probably true," I affirm, making them laugh a little more.

"Anyway, why did you call us?" Brian asks.

"There's something I have to tell you... You're actually the first ones to hear about this." I announce, already getting excited.

"Bring it out, lad!" Ringo exclaims, and I'm sure he was hinting something special.

"_Listen, do you want to know a secret?" _I joke and sing that part of "_Do you want to know a secret", _one of our songs included in our album "_Please Please Me"_

"_We promise not tell…" _George follows the melody of the song, changing it a bit, like saying they won't talk about this with anyone.

Ringo wants to participate too, so he adds, _"Closer, but don't whisper in my ear…", _very typical of him adding those funny things.

"_Say the words you long to speak…" _Brian follows the game, too.

"Seriously lads, don't tell anyone yet." I request and they nod like toddlers, eager to hear what I'm going to say.

"SAY THE GODDAMN THING ALREADY!" They all manage to scream the same thing in unison, or at least that's what I think I heard.

"I'm going to ask Paul to marry me!" I finally announce, smiling like idiot, waiting for the response of my friends. They all stay shocked and quiet for what I think is a long time, but is probably only a couple of minutes, when Ringo breaks the silence to exclaim: "OUR BOYS ARE GETTING MARRIED!"

"Well I don't know, I haven't proposed and I don't know what his response will be." I say, trying to sound serious.

"Don't be stupid John. It's obvious he's going to giggle and cry like a little girl and say yes." says George, seeming very happy.

Eppy smiles. "Where are you going to do the proposal?"

"In the place where we met." I announce.

"Awwwww, Johnny!" that's what the other Beatles first say in reply. It's so good to know I have their support and that they actually like the idea.

We spent the day chatting about stuff like the ring, flowers, vows and plans. What a satisfactory feeling.


	3. Chapter 3

_**AN: I'm going to remind you that I'm just fooling around with this story and you shouldn't take it too seriously.**_

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_**Paul McCartney P.O.V**_

Right now I'm on my own to the train station, destination: Liverpool. I don't really know why I have to go there without any kind of company. I asked Brian if my mates could travel with me, but he just replied: _"No, I need them here", _and I seriously don't understand why. We're a band integrated by four Beatles. How can Brian need them, but not me? And why do I have to go to Liverpool, anyway? All I know is that I am here because of a phone call I had with Epstein some days ago, when I was peacefully watching a documental about animals in danger of extinction and I had to get out of my comfy bed to answer the phone. It went kind of like this:

"_Hello?" I answered, hoping it to be a call from John._

"_Hey McCartney, it's Brian."_

"_Oh, hi Eppy." _

"_Guess who's going to Liverpool next Monday?"_

"_The Beatles, I guess."_

"_Nope, only you."_

"_Me? Alone? Why?"_

"_Because some filmmakers want to do a documental about The Cavern and they want to interview the artists that had played there, and they want you!"_

"_But why me? I wasn't the only one playing, y'know."_

"_Because they only want to interview one integrant from every band."_

"_But why me?" I insisted._

"_I don't know, they just requested you and I already said you'll be there. You have a compromise."_

"_Can they accompany me, at least?"_

"_No, I need them here. You'll travel alone."_

"_Not even John?"_

"_No, Paul, but you'll be fine."_

"_I don't want to travel alone. Not even to my home-town."_

"_Come on, Macca! You love documentals, isn't it like a dream to appear in one?"_

"_You win Eppy, I'll go."_

"_You won't regret it! I guarantee you that."_

"_I hope so…"_

And that phone call led me to be here alone in this bloody train station. They didn't even come to be here with me until the train arrives, because the three needed to do something I'm not aware of.

A ride to Liverpool from London isn't too long; they are both in England, after all. Truth is I never liked being alone in a media of transportation, and they didn't even bother showing up to be here with me.

Inside the train I spend most of the time playing some old tunes in my guitar, whilst the people on it sing cheerfully, very pleased to be sharing a wagon with a Beatle. I'm really glad the train doesn't have many passengers on it; just fifteen people or so, I think. Most of them old, so they don't go crazy over _Beatlemania._

The hours pass and I finally arrive to my hometown. I would be lying if I say I hate Liverpool; that's where I grew up and spent the majority of my 23 years of life. But it's not my favorite city either. I think everyone has kind of the same feelings about their hometown: you can't deny how much you like it, but don't want to be stuck there your whole life.

Now, I have to head up to The Cavern, the club that saw us growing up as musicians.

It hasn't changed much; the only weird thing is that the local seems to be closed, but it's probably because it's still too early. Eppy just said: _"When you arrive to Liverpool just go directly to The Cavern and you will find out about the rest there." _He didn't give me any other information, so I guess I'll have to wait until someone arrives.

After looking through the glass for some minutes, I try to open the door guessing it was locked, but for my surprise, it wasn't. I step inside the claustrophobic place, and ask: "Someone's here?"

I wasn't expecting to get a reply anyway, but a certain lad comes from behind the bar, and with a childish expression, jumps to where I am, exclaiming, "Me!"

I can't help but smile slightly when I find that the only person inside the club with me is John Lennon.

"What are ya doing here?" I inquire, pretending I don't care for his presence at all.

"Oh, please, Macca…" he gets closer, embraces my back and caresses the locks of hair falling in my forehead. _Damn it, John…_ He always does that kind of stuff that reminds me that I can never act like I don't care, because I actually care _too much. _He chuckles in his characteristic way, and whispers lightly in my ear: "Don't play hard with me."

I turn around to reply: "Like if that's even possible…"

He smiles triumphal and flashes me a flirty look. After a couple of minutes of mutual loving gazing, I feel the need to ask, "Do ya know where the documental blokes are coming?"

My innocent question provoked his laugh. "There isn't any documental about The Cavern."

"What are ya talking 'bout? That's why I am here."

"Paulie, I think no one will ever shoot a documental about a club."

I don't understand what's happening, therefore my confused eyes are staring at his, like telling him with my look that I'm ready for him to explain me everything, because he seems to know more than I do.

"There's no documental. The reason why you're here is because I want you to be."

_The reason why you're here is because I want you to be. _What are those words suppose to mean?

He finally explains, and I can tell he's hiding something else. "I wanted to spend the day with you, and I wanted it to be a surprise, so after hours of bothering Eppy I convinced him to call you and invent something for you to be here."

"So you planned all of this just to spend the day with me?"

"It wasn't much, really. The hardest thing was to convince Eppy. But yes, I wanted to be in Liverpool today with you."

"What's the occasion?"

He pulls me closer, grabs both of my hands and brushes his forehead with mine. "The occasion is I love you."

Right after, our lips meet for the first time in that day. Every time I'm with him I wonder what I am when he's not there. The way we know exactly the weaknesses of each other is an advantage and a disadvantage. I could be tremendously mad or angry and forget about every damn thing in just one second if he kisses me like this; and that's when I think, how did I survive that amount of hours without being kissed by his gentle lips?

After enjoying our long and warm kiss, he separates a little from me, and articulates those words that leave me confused again. "Now that you know there's no documental thing, I have to go."

"Go? Weren't you going to spend the day with me?"

He completely lets go of me and approaches the door. "Don't worry, we'll meet later, darling. Just stay here until something happens."

"What do you mean by '_Until something happens'_?"

Ignoring my question, he just blows a kiss and smirks. "You'll know,"

He shuts the door and I'm left alone again.

Now I don't understand anything at all. According to John, I took the train because he told Brian to tell me about some lads interviewing me for a documental that's never going to happen. Then, when I figured out there isn't going to be any bloody documental, John tells me that he told Eppy to tell me that because he was planning to spend the day with me here, but now he left and told me to stay here _until something happens. _How do I know what is going to happen? Anything can be. And what was his reply? _You'll know. _How he's so sure I'll know? Well, if he's sure, I should be sure, because he knows me better than anyone else. I just don't want to be here alone, but… I already am.

Lesser than I expected, the thing I was waiting for happens. Some bloke I'm sure I have seen before accesses The Cavern. He smiles shyly and greets. "Hello Paul, do you remember me? I'm Ivan."

Of course I know him! This lad is the one whom introduced me John seven years ago! "Ivan Vaughan? How long!"

He titters nervously. "Oh, I see you remember me…"

"How can I forget about you? I owe you my life."

"Really? Oh wow, who could tell I owe the life of a Beatle…"

"You introduced me John in the Woolton festival where the Quarry Men performed."

"I see you remember."

"I'll never forget that day, and I have the need of telling you how grateful I am for your insistence that led me to assist at the festival. Without you, I wouldn't be a Beatle today, and all those Lennon/McCartney songs wouldn't exist."

Ivan scratches his ear. "I'm sure if I hadn't introduced you two, you would have met in the future. I mean, Liverpool isn't that big."

I'm sure Ivan's arrival is the _thing _John told me to wait for. That means he actually had this planned from long before; but what for? And why the hell did he leave? Before my curiosity kills me, I ask, "You're here because John told ya to be, right?"

"Err… I am actually here because I want to take you to listen to a band of a friend of mine."

_A band of a friend of mine. _Why does that sound so…familiar to me?

"Sorry for asking, Ivan, but what does that have to do with John?"

"You'll see."

And that's the second time of the day when I get those two fucking words as an answer.

Ivan takes me inside one of the classic Liverpool busses; since years I don't take one of those. He's driving and I am the only passenger. I cross through all those childhood places again, wondering the final destination. John wants me to be in one specific place, I know that. But why Liverpool? Of the four, John is the less apprehensive about his birthplace; he actually said once, _"I grew up in Hamburg, not Liverpool."_

None of this made sense to me…yet.

Once Vaughan tells me to get out of the bus, I follow him to where he was taking me, and then I feel like a total fool when I realise I'm standing in the same place where I eyed the love of my life for the first time.

There's a little stage, in which John, George and Ringo appear, all dressed as Teddy boys, like they used to in the late fifties. My partner grabs a microphone, and after smiling directly to me, pronounces: "Hello all, we're the Quarry Men Skiffle Group."

And that's when something illuminates my head and things start to make sense for me. We're in the place we me met, and he's dressing like he used to that time, he introduced himself as a member of the Quarry Men and is probably going to play something now with Geo and Rings. Ringo was never a part of the Quarry Men, and George joined later when I got him in, but having the three men I love most standing in front of me, getting ready to play a song for me is too much.

They all start playing their instruments, and John begins to sing,

_**Love, love me darlin'**__**  
**__**Come and go with me,**__**  
**__**Please don't send me**__**  
**__**'way beyond the sea;**__**  
**__**I need you, darlin',**__**  
**__**So come go with me**__._

Oh dear Lord, he's singing _Come go with me _by Del-Vikings. This is the first song I heard him sing. In 1957 he didn't know the lyrics, therefore he improvised. Now he's singing it right._**Come, come, come, come,**__**  
**__**Come into my heart,**__**  
**__**Tell me, darlin',**__**  
**__**We will never part;**__**  
**__**I need you, darlin',**__**  
**__**So come go with me.**__**  
**_

Half of the song and my face is already full of tears. I don't have any reason to contain them. I never cared about people seeing me cry. My boys are doing the most beautiful thing someone has ever done for me.

_**Yes, I need you,**__**  
**__**Yes, I really need you,**__**  
**__**Please say you'll never leave me.**__**  
**__**Well, say, you never,**__**  
**__**Yes, you really never,**__**  
**__**You never give me a chance.**__**Come, come, come, come,**__**  
**__**Come into my heart,**__**  
**__**Tell me, darlin',**__**  
**__**We will never part;**__**  
**__**I need you, darlin',**__**  
**__**So come go with me.**_

Immediately after the song ends I clap like crazy. The three ran inside the Church Hall without me. I am too astonished to even think about anything.

Ivan touches my shoulder slightly to catch my attention. "Would you like to meet the band?"

Just like in July 6 of 1957.

When the thought of _July 6 _crosses my mind, I almost desperately ask Vaughan: "Introduce me the band members, indeed! Just tell me something, was yesterday July 5?"

I don't know why I asked a complex question like that. I could have simply inquired '_What day is today?'_

He nods and that makes me cry even harder. Today is July 6 and I just realise that now! That's why he's doing all of this; today is our anniversary!

I run inside the St. Peter's Church Hall where I talked to John for the first time with Ivan.

Ivan _introduces _me, "Hey lads, this is Paul. He plays too."

"Paul is your name, huh? And why are you crying? We played _that _bad? Or were we just so bloody amazing for you to handle it?" John jokes with one of his cocky comments he used to joke with when he was younger; and well, he still does sometimes. I assume I have to keep playing the game, as if we were meeting for the first time.

"Auditions are over, kid." George jokes too, taking his character seriously.

"Don't be too hard on him," Ringo joins the little game. "Let the bloke play something."

I wipe away some tears to keep along with the game, though I'm sure my face is still red. George hands me a right-hand guitar, like the one I used the day John and I met, so I have to play it upside down, like before. I grab the guitar gently and play the song that got me in The Quarry Men. I impressed John that day, because I played some chords he didn't know and knew all the words to _Twenty Flight Rock _by Eddie Cochran_._

_**Oh well, I've got a girl with a record machine  
When it comes to rockin' she's the queen  
We love to dance on a Saturday night  
All alone, I can hold her tight  
But she lives in a twentiest floor up town  
The elevator's broken down**_

_**So I walked one, two flight, three flight, four**_  
_**Five, six, seven flight, eight flight more**_  
_**Up on the twelfth I started to drag**_  
_**Fifteenth floor I'm ready to sag**_  
_**Get to the top, I'm too tired to rock**_

_**When she calls me up on the telephone**_  
_**Said c'mon over honey, I'm all alone**_  
_**I said baby, you're mighty sweet**_  
_**But I'm in the bed with a achin' feet**_  
_**This went on for a couple of days**_  
_**But I couldn't stay away**_

_****__So I walked one, two fligh_t, three flight, four  
Five, six, seven flight, eight flight more  
Up on the twelfth I'm ready to drag  
Fifteenth floor I started to sag  
Get to the top, I'm too tired to rock

**_Well, they sent to Chicago for repairs_**  
**_'Till it's a-fixed I'm using the stairs_**  
**_Hope they hurry up before it's too late_**  
**_Want my baby too much to wait_**  
**_All this climbin' is gettin' me down_**  
**_They'll find my corpse draped over a rail_**

**_But I climbed one, two flight, three flight, four_**  
**_Five, six, seven flight, eight flight more_**  
**_Up on the twelfth I'm ready to drag_**  
**_Fifteenth floor I started to sag_**  
**_Get to the top, I'm too tired to rock_**

When I finish my song, I could see John's little tears rolling down his cheeks, staring at me with an incredibly tender look.

"Happy anniversary, Macca." When I hear that, I know that the little game is over and this is serious now. I'm not that recently-turned-on fifteen teenager anymore.

"Happy anniversary to you too, Johnny. I can't believe this is happening! You planned all of this to give me an anniversary surprise." I hug him tightly while I listen Ringo whispering to George, "They are the cutest couple, aren't they?"

I can't take the part of the credit out of the two other Beatles, so I invited George and Ringo to join us for a group hug. "D'aww, guys! You were part of this too! Come and join, I love you all so much."

And that group hug was probably the warmest in the history of hugs. Nothing can stop us. John, George, Ringo and me will be together till the end.

"You all look so adorable dressed like Teddy boys with the Elvis hairstyle." I comment, laughing a little.

"Yeah… We were into leather until they made us use the fucking little suits…" John says with a complaining face.

"But you all know I was the real Ted!" Ritchie proudly says.

George burst out laughing. "But John is the one that hates the suits most. He's always talking about throwing them out of the window."

"Guys… Were the hell is Ivan? Wasn't he there?" I ask, completely changing the conversation topic.

"I think he left…" Ringo speaks.

"Thanks for pointing out the obvious, mate." George replies, making us laugh again.

"Maybe this was too queer for him to handle." John jokes, and that makes us laugh even harder, if that's possible.

George smirked at John jokily to say, "Let's calm down, lads… Paul hasn't seen the other part of the surprise."

"Another surprise? Wow… You all must love me so much…"

"And we do!" Ringo claims, as the other two nodded in agreement.

John cleares his throat, and approaches. "But no one loves you like I do, Paul; no one. I don't know what I was doing with my life before I met you. You fucking taught me how to play the guitar properly! You were always better than me in every way, but ridiculously I was and still am the cocky one. When I think of all the good things that had happened to me, you're the first thing crossing my mind. Hell, you're the first thing that crosses my mind when I wake up, and it seems that you're the only thing I can think about. You invade my thoughts, McCartney. Sorry for every time I've hurt you or done something stupid, because you clearly don't deserve anything bad. I'm not even sure if I deserve having you as a partner. Songwriting with you is probably what I enjoy the most, you can't imagine how much I love that when we write songs together you give me whatever chord or word I need; like if we were connected, and I believe we are. You see who I really am; you know my weaknesses, strengths, fears, dreams, as if you could look directly to my soul. You're my inspiration to write, and what reminds me that life doesn't suck as I always claim it does. You're the definition of perfection, and I know you always say I exaggerate about that, but I am not. I love how you worry about everyone else before thinking of yourself, how the tiniest things make you blush and giggle, how you hardly complain about something and always look for the bright side of things, how every little detail is important to you, how I can't spend much time with my tie loose because you always tighten it for me, how obsessive you are about keeping everything organized and clean, how you can melodically play every goddamn musical instrument you touch, how your eyes sparkle when you're happy, how you barely move when you sleep, and I could go on like this forever. July 6 of 1957 was the day my life changed, and that's why I chose today, July 6 of 1964 to ask if you, James Paul McCartney, will marry me."

Is this really happening? John Lennon did just ask me to marry me? The initial shock won't allow me to say anything. That's the longest and most beautiful speech I've ever heard. Crying is the only thing I can do.

"I-I love you." It was all I could manage to say. I throw myself to John, grabbing his neck, starting a passionate and powerful kiss, feeling each other's tears.

"Can I take that as a yes?"

I nod, pulling him from another kiss, longer than the last one.

Ringo and George sob and clap. I couldn't ask for better friends. The rest of the day went magnificent. I'm officially John Lennon's fiancée.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N PLEASE READ. I owe the awesomeness of this chapter to "Martha John's Dear" (who used to be "The Crazy Violist"). She wrote everything, the only thing written by me is the beginning and the ending. Now go and tell her how amazing she is. **

**Thank you, thank you, thank you (:**

_**John Lennon P.O.V**_

Now I'm engaged with the man that drives me crazy. Our engagement rings are thin and made of silver, with the date _July 6 _scripted.

But there's one slight problem: my fiancée is crying curled against me at the side of our bed, and my heart aches at an indescribable way, of seeing my love carrying such pain and sorrow.

That's what happens when you're so naïve, and get blind by the love and happiness you have; like if the rest of the world agreed to spoil our plans.

This early morning, we woke up determined to go to a court and ask all the requirements for getting married. We didn't know anything about what do you need for marrying legally; a birth certificate, I suppose.

What was wrong with asking? I really don't know. Last thing I remember is us being yelled at a court and accused of sinners and law-breakers, "_Men don't marry each other, that's impossible and goes against the law. You could get sued for what you've asked, and should be thankful I won't tell anyone. Didn't you know that's forbidden? I assume with the luxury life you have, you think you can do everything and there are no limits; how wrong you are. Because you're famous you think you two can decide what is wrong and what is right? You make God cry. The Devil is waiting for you in hell; you should be ashamed of yourselves. Now do me a big favor get out."_

I've never seen Paul so hurt and weak. I just wanted to punch that man in the face, but I just couldn't. What happens when you hit a lawyer? You go to jail? It was something I didn't want to find out.

Maybe it was my fault for living in my own world and not viewing what happens in the _real _one.

The road home was quiet, as none of us found any appropriate words to say to each other. The euphoria and rejoicing of an hour ago vanished creating a melt of the most unpleasant feelings.

But there had to be another way. This man, sobbing in my shoulder under the covers at a side of our bed, is the one who owns my heart, and I swear I'll make him smile again. I'm going to marry James Paul McCartney, whether the fucking law wants it or not.

"We don't need the law, the Church's or anyone's approval. What's more important than our love to get married? For me, that's the only requirement. I want to marry you, and nothing's going to stop me for doing it." I whispered into Paul's ear.

He quickly removed the sobs that were left in his angelical face, and decided, "Let's marry ourselves in the apartment. I want to marry you today."

It pleased me more than anything to watch how rapidly his mood changed.

Our pair of engagement rings sparkled in the early morning sunlight. I reached over and took them both off of the nightstand and wiggled mine onto my ring finger. It looked so right on me, like it was meant to be there.

Gently, I plucked Paul's left hand out from under the blankets and slid his on as well. He looked up to me and smiled; no sign of tears anymore.

"I love you, John," he said. "A whole fucking lot."

I brushed his dark hair from his forehead and pecked him softly. "I love you more, Macca."

"I'll get some flowers from the florist, and you can go find the Bible for vows."

"Alright, but while you're out, could you pick up some wine or something? We need to celebrate!" I proclaimed as I threw the covers off of the two of us.

At ten minutes after eleven o'clock, I stood back to admire my handiwork. The living room was draped in all the clean quilts and blankets I could find to create a covered alter. Vases of flowers dotted the tables and petals were sprinkled on the floor. Colorful candles lead up the aisle and glowed beautifully, making the room seem both peaceful and romantic. On a pillow, sat our two rings; our engagement rings that were ready to finally become wedding bands. I polished the set until I could see my reflection.

I heard the oven door shut in the kitchen, the smell of sweet cake wafted to my nostrils. Paul was on food duty, and had baked a modest wedding cake to enjoy after our ceremony along with a bottle of champagne and a spread of surprises.

"Are you ready, Paul?" I shouted to my fiancée, anxiety bubbling inside of me.

"In a minute, John! I've got to put the cake down!" Paul yelled. I could hear him rustling around in the other room. "Unless you want to eat popcorn as our wedding dinner then I suggest you to shut up!"

A few minutes later he appeared in the doorway. Dressed in a full tuxedo, my fiancée never looked more handsome. His eyes widened and he grinned as he took in the sight. I motioned him to come over, for I was waiting at our 'alter' already.

Paul laughed and started prancing towards me, his eyes wide and full of excitement.

"Here comes the bride…" I sang slowly, teasing him.

He stopped midway and raised his eyebrow. "I am not a fucking girl, nor do I plan on ever being one."

I stuck out my tongue, and changed the lyrics to the song. "Here comes the other groom…"

"Much better." Paul chuckled. "I'm glad you recognize I am indeed a lad."

"I would hope that I would've." I shot back playfully. "Now come on, I want to get married!"

Finally, he reached me in front of the windows. Paul squeezed my hand and picked up a piece of paper from the nearest table. On it were our vows, and I watched as he read them over carefully.

Tears were already forming in my eyes and I could see the same happening to him.

Paul looked me in the eyes, full of love.

"I, James Paul McCartney take thee, John Winston Lennon, to be my unlawfully wedded husband, secure in the knowledge that you will be my constant friend, my faithful partner in life, and my one true love. On this special day, I give to you in the presence of God and these nonexistent witnesses my pledge to stay by your side as your faithful husband in sickness and in health, in joy and in sorrow, as well as through the good times and the bad." Paul recited, his eyes filling with tears with each soulful word.

"I promise to love you without reservation, comfort you in times of distress, encourage you to achieve all of your goals, laugh with you and cry with you, grow with you in mind and spirit, always be open and honest with you, and cherish you for as long as we both shall live."

Now, it was my turn. Gently, I squeezed my soon-to-be-husband's hand and looked deep into his eyes.

"I, John Winston Lennon, take thee, James Paul McCartney to be my unlawfully wedded husband, secure in the knowledge that you will be my constant friend, my faithful partner in life, and my one true love. On this special day, I give to you in the presence of God and these nonexistent witnesses my pledge to stay by your side as your faithful husband in sickness and in health, in joy and in sorrow, as well as through the good times and the bad." My heart swelled for the enormous amount of love I had for this man.

"I promise to love you without reservation, honor and respect you, provide for your needs as best as I can, protect you from harm, comfort you in times of distress, grow up with you in mind and spirit, always be open and honest with you, and cherish you for as long as we both shall live."

Paul reached over to the velvet pillow and cautiously plucked my ring off. He took my left in his and slid the band on. "John Winston Lennon, accept this ring as a token of my love."

I nodded and whispered "I will."

He smiled hugely, showing his pearly white teeth. I stroked his cheek and gracefully picked up his nearly identical one. "James Paul McCartney, accept this ring as a token of my love."

"I will." He choked out through his rapidly forming tears.

A tear slid down Paul's cheek and I whisked it away with the back of my hand. Grinning as far as I could, I softly said "I may now kiss my husband."

I pulled Paul's face to mine and touched my lips to his, sealing our makeshift marriage.

"I now pronounce us man and wife." I whispered sarcastically into his ear as he nuzzled into my neck.

"John." Paul said, rubbing his tear-stained eyes in my hair. "Now's not the time."

"I now pronounce us man and not wife." I corrected, trying my hardest not to laugh.

Paul punched me lightly on the arm and pulled away. "You're horrible."

"But you love me."

"Yeah, I do." He blushed, something as common as breathing for him these days.

"I love you more."

Paul took me by the hand and led me into the cozy kitchen. The wedding cake sat beautifully decorated on the counter, crisp with white frosting. Green and blue accents dotted the edges to add a personal touch with our favorite colors. He handled the gleaming kitchen knife with care and sliced two neat pieces.

"One for you," he said as he handed me a plate. "And one for your newlywed husband, A.K.A. me."

I took my slice from him and kissed his cheek. "It looks lovely. Really."

Paul gave me a mischievous smile then smashed the small piece of cake into my face, smearing it onto my cheekbones.

Laughing, I did the same to him. "You little bastard."

Paul threw back his head in laughter and used his finger to swipe a bit of mashed cake off of my cheek. He licked his hand, then blew a kiss. "But you love me."

"Nah, that was before I married you."

He put his hands on his hips, and gave me a death glare. "You're just full of it today, aren't you?"

"Aren't I always?" I joked. "I'm just kidding, you know."

"I know." Paul winked and grabbed the nearest dishtowel from the cabinet to clean off his face.

I did the same, allowing myself to taste Paul's creation resting all over my face. "It's not bad, actually."

"Of course it's not." He glanced contented. "All my creations are marvelous."

The phone started ringing, and at the first _ring _Paul was already saying, "You answer it."

Before checking who it was, I protested, "If it's Brian or George Martin, or whatever, I don't have any intentions of working on my wedding day."

"_Hello?"_

"_John?" It was Ringo. Lovely._

"_Rings? Guess what?"_

"_We have another Number One hit?"_

"_I just married Paul!"_

"_Today? Already? Why didn't you invite us?"_

"_Yes! And sorry about that... Want to pass by with George? We have wine and a marvelous master cake made by Paul waiting for our hungry kid."_

"_Formidable. Wait for us."_

I hung up and smiled at my husband. "Geo and Ritchie are coming to celebrate."

He rolled his eyes and I assumed he wanted to take a little revenge from my past teasing. "Celebrate what?"

"Come on, love! Those jokes don't fit you. It's not even funny." I giggled at how cute he looks when he _tries _to appear upset with me. I kissed his cheek and murmured, "You're too adorable." getting another of his charming smiles in response.

This was just the beginning of the second best day of my life.


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N This is the last chapter. Sorry, I know it is so short and it is also the worst chapter I've ever written ahsdkahdka.**_

_**Paul McCartney P.O.V**_

My husband grabbed both of my hands and started playing with them like a little child would do. _Husband. _I didn't realize how great that word sounds until now. He approached and gave another of his flirty looks that can say more than a hundred words, and we were about to kiss when we heard the most indecent knocks from the principal door. If it wasn't made of good wood, I'm sure _they _could have thrown it down. "COME ON, NEWLYWEDS! OPEN THE BLOODY DOOR! GEORGE WANTS CAKE!"

"Just… Lovely." John burst out laughing, our lips almost touching, as we fell apart.

I quickly jogged to open the door, finding the older and the younger Beatle smiling brightly, almost creepily. "Awwwww, look at the little birds in love, Geo."

John protested, ignoring Ringo's comment, "Why can't you knock softly two times like normal people do?"

"'Cause we're not normal." George seemed so serious, that it actually sounded funny.

"True fact." I affirmed.

"We're angry with you, anyway." George rolled his eyes, and apparently, he is as bad as me at pretending to be mad.

John joked, smirking at the two, "Why is that so, lovelies?"

"I wanted to be best-man, y'know…" Ringo looked so cute using his puppy-eyes, that it even sounded real. He's the only Beatle that could actually succeed as an actor.

George nodded and then said, "Me too… And I wanted to be the first one to try the cake…"

"We even prepared you a wedding gift." Rings said with the most manipulative voice he found.

John eyes widened and exclaimed, "Gift? I love gifts!"

"You didn't invite us so you won't have your wedding gift." George decided, and Ringo followed.

"No wedding gift for us means no cake for you." I joked, but George took it _very _serious.

George handed us a little rectangular box, tied with a huge red bow. "Forget it!"

"You're going to love it!" Ringo affirmed, and George burst out laughing.

I gently opened the box, which contained a wooden frame with a photo of George and Ringo in it, with a little note that contained the words: "Don't forget us!"

John and I stared confusedly at the picture, until he broke the silence to say, "Just what I wanted!"

George joked, "Oh, we totally knew it."

Ringo smiled and suggested, "You should place it in your nightstand, that way you'll see our beautiful faces every day."

I winked to my friends, "Believe me, we will."

"Now tell me something, Paul was the bride, right?" The youngest Beatle asked, and everyone laughed, except me.

"Indeed." John replied, giving a kiss to my hair.

"It's not funny!" I complained.

Ringo stated, imitating my past winks, "But don't be mad, Macca, you are the most beautiful bride ever."

"He is…" John sighed.

I affirmed, "I am the most beautiful GROOM, yes."

"You're _my _beautiful groom," He declared, kissing my cheek.

George proposed, "I'm going to call you from now on, John McCartney and Paul Lennon. How does it sound?"

"No, no, we better call 'em John McCartney-Lennon and Paul Lennon-McCartney." Ringo suggested.

"Or John Lennon and Paul McCartney," I said. "That sounds even better."

"I like Mr. and Mrs. Lennon," Ringo laughed.

I protested, "WHY DO I ALWAYS HAVE TO BE THE GIRL!"

"He's right, guys… Stop bothering Macca…" John stood out for me and I nodded innocently.

George remarked, "You were the one who started it, by the way…"

"Or maybe Mr. and Mrs. McCartney." Ringo joked.

"Stop it, seriously." John requested, "This is not funny anymore."

"It was never funny." I claimed.

"Anyway," George pronounced, "Where's the cake?"

I commented, "You only think of food, don't you?"

George jogged to the kitchen to look for the cake, and didn't have to put much effort, because it was right on top of the counter.

"What flavor it its?" Ringo asked looking at the cake like if it was some kind of weird Indian food.

John laughed saying in reply, "A mix of everything Paul found in the kitchen, I think."

I shoot back, "Shut up! You know it tastes good!"

George declared, "Yeah, shut up John. Paul is the only one that can actually cook something." Then he burst out laughing reminding him, "Remember when you where trying to do fried eggs without putting oil into the frying pan?"

"But I wasn't saying it as a bad thing!" John protested.

"It is actually really good." Ringo affirmed while giving it the first bite.

"Hhhhmmm…" George stated positively, "You're right. This thing is good."

I smiled satisfactory, as I saw everyone eating my master creation.

"Let's make a toast for the newlyweds!" Ringo proposed.

I replied, "That would be lovely. I bought wine."

John took out the bottle of wine from the kitchen cabinet and showed it to George and Ringo, "I'm sure it's the smallest bottle of wine I've ever seen."

"It's enough for a cup for each of us. It's small because I don't want any of us to get drunk on my wedding day." I stated.

"And John gets wasted even with chocolate milk," George laughed.

I grabbed four glasses and served a little amount of wine in each one, giving one to every Beatle.

"Cheers to John and Paul!" Ringo exclaimed, elevating the arm that was holding the glass.

George added, "Cheers to the success of '_A hard day's night'_!"

We all joked and talked for hours, until Geo proposed, "Beatle sleepover?"

"Almost every day is a Beatle sleepover because of the touring. Let the newlyweds have their night. Tomorrow we will probably be working 36 hours in the studio." Rings said.

"Oh, well… Bye, bye then! _We love you, yeah, yeah, yeah!" _George sang cheerfully as they left closing the door loudly, knowing that's something that annoys us.

John chuckled, "I'll demand them to buy us a new door."

"And I demand you to kiss me." I approached suggestively, grabbing him by his neck.

He smirked and raised an eyebrow, "You demand?"

He enjoys teasing me, and he does it when I look needier. I bit my lower lip, approaching closer, as he brushed the hair out of my face to start an intense, long, deep kiss.

"I love you, James." He giggled, brushing our noses together.

"I love you more, Winston."

_**A/N I will think about adding another chapter about a "honeymoon" or whatever, but I don't know.**_

_**Thank you for all your reviews!**_


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